


Quiet

by snoozebutton



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Episode Related, Gen, ep55 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 20:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoozebutton/pseuds/snoozebutton
Summary: Nott thinks of Caleb and his many kinds of quiet.Spoilers for C2E55.





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is literally the first piece of fiction I've ever written. I've always wanted to do it, and Ep 55 really inspired me. I would really love to know what people think. Thank you for reading!

She’d known him long enough to determine that Caleb had many kinds of quiet. Back when they had first gotten together, scraping by with just enough to put a roof over their heads, they learned to trust each other in the comfortable silence of shabby rented rooms. They worked together in silence, her tinkering with her scant supply of alchemical components, him poring over a small beaten tome they had found in the back of a bookshop earlier in the week. She remembered how he had crowed in excitement at its discovery, carefully counting out precious coins and weighing them against even more missed meals. Now, though, they had a few moments of quiet, broken only by low mutterings in that strange language of his as he deciphered new spells and worked out solutions to arcane puzzles far more advanced than she could ever comprehend. Her bright boy.

In Trostenwald, in another of an ever-growing list of simple rooms above simple taverns, he slept. The aftermath of a terrible fight. She almost lost him, her squishy wizard. Now, he was resting, sleeping like the dead. But _not_ dead, not if she could ever help it. She needed him. He obviously needed her as well. She rested for a while at his feet, enjoying the comfort and quiet of deep breaths and soft snores. She enjoyed it until she didn’t, as the itch started to take hold again. He was safe here. She could step out for a moment. Besides, her flask was nearly empty.

Back in the gnoll mine, many months ago, she witnessed a new, terrifying kind of quiet from him, when he stood frozen among flames and ashes. Too far buried within his own head, full of screaming and secrets. After that, after Beauregard bullied him into confession, she learned to recognize the warning signs. The two of them worked together, from that point on, trying to pull him from his head, away from the quiet.

After that day, try as she might, sometimes he still fell victim to the quiet brought on by fire and former madness. But there were more moments of good quiet as well! With every chance he got, he could be found with his nose in a book as he continued to learn and grow, surpassing every expectation. He spent hours in rapt attention, studying that dodeca-thingy and identifying powerful new items for the group. She was so very proud of him. The moments of quiet continued in the next months, contemplative and concerning in turns. One moment stood out sharply, after she hesitantly introduced the group to Veth Brenatto. He was quiet once again, until _Bren_ and a terrible story of scars and corruption and a mind broken far too young.

In hindsight, she wishes they’d had more a chance to talk, there in the tunnels. Too much has happened in too little time. They’ve found themselves rudderless in a terrifying new land full of beasts and other little monsters who look just like her. They’re searching for clues for the whereabouts of her husband, her brilliant Yeza. And it’s led them to this well, and this demon, and this pair of freaky, sexy bugbear ghosts?

The aftermath is bloody and wrong and full of regret. She miscalculated, focused too much on just getting the fighting and the hurting to stop. Half her team was down, bleeding out. And her mistake, her _stupid awful_ mistake, took the life of one of her friends, however briefly. They all acted in regrettable ways during that fight, but none, she thinks, none moreso than Caleb. She cannot think of a more horrible nightmare for him, forced to act in the favor of these manipulative lying monsters. Forced to burn his family once again. Forced to be a weapon against his will. Again. He’s responsive, but only just so, locked away in that head of his. She can see the despair brimming over his eyes, and he refuses to listen to comfort or reason as he wills his broken body to conjure a familiar tiny hut, so that they all may finally rest. Rest does finally come to them all, in fits and waves. Some, like Caduceus and Fjord, fall asleep almost immediately. It takes little longer for the adrenaline to wear off for the others to follow suit. Nott’s heavy eyelids stay trained on Caleb as he sits along the edge of the small enclosure and away from the group, absently scribbling in one of his notebooks and staring off into nothing.

Some number of hours later, Nott wakes with a start to a new kind of quiet. She knows instinctively, immediately, this was the worst kind of all. Her eyes shoot open, and she takes in her surroundings. The walls of the carved-out well loom over her as her pile of sleeping friends huff and hum in their sleep, peeling away and curling into one another in turns, unconsciously attempting to find a modicum of comfort against cool, damp air, in order to find rest. She lay there, still, scrunching her eyes shut. Maybe, if she keeps her eyes closed, she could make herself believe she was still sleeping. As the rest of the party begins to shiver awake, she knows she can pretend no longer. She turns to her side, latching on to the arm of his ratty, filthy, familiar coat, pulling it close and hiding her face in the musty collar.

Fjord’s voice is the first to break the silence. “Ho-lee shit, it’s cold in here! I thought the whole point of this hut of yours was to keep us from being out in the elements like this. What gives, Caleb?” _Idiot_ , she thinks. _Always talking, never paying attention._  


Nott the Brave takes a moment to steel herself and breathe. She pulls the coat closer, wrapping her arms around his precious bundle of books and the necklace he never ever ever takes off, her hand clutching around a scrap of paper folded among this small pile of precious treasure. She opens her eyes and reads two words in his beautiful, spidery scrawl: _I’m sorry._

There, as the rest of her party began to rise, asking questions and calling out his name, she just lay there, unmoving and staring at his note. Quiet.


End file.
